Mama Mathilda
by Maijajo
Summary: Lighterhearted DL story, about destiny,
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** _Mama Mathilda_  
**Prompts: **Candles, fantasy, flowers, glow  
**Rating:** K  
**Warning:** None I can think of, other than too much sap!  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own these people!

**OCTOBER 21, 1990**

"Oh, c'mon, Lindsay! It'll be fun. Don't be such a spoiled sport."

Inwardly, 16-year-old Lindsay Monroe rolled her eyes at Missy Danville's whine. Her best friend, Laura Hughes, joined the peer pressure.

"We're at a fall festival in Montana. It's nothing to worry about. She calls herself Mama Mathilda, for God's sake." Despite her annoyed words, Laura's words are gentle. Lindsay is always a bit cautious in nature. Always has been since that night two years ago, when the police showed up at her parents' home to tell her Andy, her brother, had been killed by a drunk driver at the age of 17.

Lindsay looks once again at the handmade sign over the entry of the faded, striped tent. _Gaze into the future with Mama Mathilda_. "Okay, fine, whatever."

Missy jumps up and down, squealing like a toddler who's had too much candy. "Me first! Me first! I want her to tell me Patrick McCandlish is going to ask me to the spring formal!" This time, Laura and Lindsay roll their eyes together.  
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A few minutes later, Mama Mathilda, a grandmotherly woman with curly gray hair barely contained in a bun, is calmly explaining to Missy that while she sees romance in her future, she can't be sure if it involves Patrick or the spring formal. Pouting, Missy huffs and walks outside. "I'll meet you guys out here."

Mama Mathilda turns and smiles benignly at the other two girls. "Who's next?" In real life, she runs a knit shop two towns over. She puts on this persona to raise funds for the Rotary Club. Her own grandmother would be pleased to see Mathilda putting her "third eye" to good use. She sighed. Unfortunately, most people seem only interested in their next date or investment tips.

"Go on, you go." Laura nudges Lindsay, who shrugs and heads over to the chair, holding back some trepidation. _Stop it, it's a sweet old lady at a country festival_, she chided herself.

Mathilda uses no crystal balls, tarot cards or other props. The room has a large card table covered by a floral tablecloth, and fat vanilla candles give the area a soft glow and comforting scent. Without any magic words or hocus pocus, she simply holds Lindsay's hands in her own and closes her eyes. Usually she only sees flickers – sometimes nothing at all – but once in awhile …

"Oh my!" Her eyes open briefly to glance at Lindsay. "It would appear your inner self has an open window, dear. This should be interesting." She closes her eyes again, and Lindsay sends another eye roll in her friend's direction.

"Oh … I see blood."

That grabs Lindsay's attention, and she's tempted to pull her hands away. But Mama Mathilda's furrowed brows relax. "I see now … it's part of what you will be doing … your job. It will center around death."

The hairs on the back of her neck prickle. Lindsay's already taking extra science classes – she wants to be a crime scene investigator, like the men that used broken bits of windshield glass and tire tracks to find her brother's killer – some idiot with a suspended license for previous DUIs.

"Yes, it's something you've dreamed about I think – a loss breeding a calling, I believe? You will overcome obstacles, people who would stand in your way, but you won't let them. I keep seeing an ugly plaid – greens and browns - and I smell Old Spice. I wonder what that means? Oh well.

But you will reach your goal, and it will take you far from here. To the east coast, perhaps? Follow your heart, my girl. Let's see, where was I? Oh, yes, the east, where you will find your mentor in the land of lions and tigers and bears …"

"Oh my!" Laura adds before dissolving into giggles. Instead of getting angry, Mathilda smiles.

"It doesn't always make sense to me either, my dear. This time in your life is very clear for me – it's the important time, when the decisions will be what build your destiny. But I digress. On the coast you will meet your mentor – the man with the sad eyes. Father figure perhaps? More importantly, you will also meet the man of your dreams."

"Of course," Laura snorts, but Lindsay shushes her. Something tells her this is more than just some cheesy parlor trick, more than a fantasy.

"My picture is not all that clear, although I see a beautiful pair of blue eyes, full of love for only one woman – that would be you, my dear. It will take you a long time to find your way to each other, but it will be worth it. Let me see what else …

"You will bond over the blood of others, I see. Not only through your job, but over those close to you. Strange images that bring you together – spiders? Dumb bells? A cigarette butt? Hmmmm … what's this? Oh, I don't believe he will ever call you by your given name."

Even Lindsay has to raise an eyebrow at this, but she listens all the same.

"He will pledge his life to you – it will be the fantasy you hope for. Flowers, candlelight. A romantic evening that ends with …. Goodness! Never mind, dear. Wait, something else about what morning will bring. Rainbows? That's all.

"My advice is to follow your heart, first in your calling, then to this man. He will love you until you both leave this earth and beyond."

Mama Mathilda opens her eyes and Lindsay is surprised to see tears there. "Sorry dear, just remembering my one and only. My grandmother – she had the sight – told me about him when I was about your age. And she was right – he's gone from this earth, but he's with me everyday."

They stare at each other until Laura clears her throat. "My turn?" She switches places with Lindsay, who's lost in thought and doesn't even hear her friend's reading. _Wonder when I'll find ole' blue eyes?_

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** _Mama Mathilda_  
**Prompt:** More than a memory  
**Rating:** K  
**Warning:** None I can think of, other than too much sap!  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own these people!

**JUNE 14, 2001**

Newly minted CSI Lindsay Monroe struggled to keep a smile off her face. She was approaching a murder scene, after all. Jesse McClintock, 32, gunned down in front of his apartment building in downtown Bozeman, would become her first case.

After graduating from the police academy, she spent six years as a deputy for the Great Falls Sheriff's Department while taking night classes to earn her bachelor's degree in forensic science from the University of Great Falls. Two months ago, she was hired as a CSI for the Bozeman Police Department.

"Your scores are excellent, and Sergeant Rothchild in Great Falls raved about your professionalism," said Captain Roger Willard when he hired her. "We can use some of that in Bozeman."

Up ahead, she could see a tall, beefy figure lingering over the body, which was splayed in front of the steps. Lindsay sighed. Det. Milo Ferguson, notorious chauvinist and overall jerk. Capt.Willard warned her that as one of only a handful of female CSIs in Montana, she should prepare for some hazing. Ferguson was rumored to be one of the worst.

"Good evening, detective. What have we got?"

"A dead guy," he deadpanned, then burst into laughter. When he noticed she didn't laugh in response, he cleared his throat. "Ummm, neighbors heard the shots along with a revving car engine around 10:30 p.m. They found Mr. McClintock shortly after. Your pal Rodriguez went to get some CSI crap – he should be back soon."

Roberto "Robby" Rodriguez. Lindsay smiled to herself. He was a good guy, had welcomed her warmly at the lab the day before. She got to work, collecting trace and other evidence, with Ferguson lingering nearby.

"You're pretty for a CSI. What brought you into this kind of work?" he asked, leaning close.

She couldn't help but groan – it was straight out of some cheesy novel. Well, she could be cheesy, too. Lindsay gave him her best plucky-young-female look. "Justice, Detective, justice."

He rolled his eyes, and Robby chose that time to return, bidding her a friendly hello. With him in the picture, Ferguson quieted down, although she had the disconcerting feeling he kept looking at her butt.

NYNYNYNYNYNYNYNYNYNYNYNYNYNYNYNYN

Back at the lab, ballistics on the 9-millimeter slug matched a gun used in a liquor store robbery two months ago. Rodriguez had gone to the trace lab when Ferguson chose to step into the room. He was wearing jeans – standard uniform for Montana detectives – and a worn shirt in a hideous green and brown plaid. A distant memory pricked the back of Lindsay's brain, but she shrugged it off.

She brusquely told him of the ballistics match, hoping to keep things professional.

"Good work, honey. I'll check with the officer in charge of that case for a lead."

"You do that," she said. "I'll let you know if we get anything else." Lindsay turned away, hoping he would take the hint and leave, but no such luck. The heavy breathing on the back of her neck and the cloying smell of Old Spice – further adding to her déjà vu – signaled her that he was close by.

"Anything else you need, detective?" She supposed he thought he was being sexy – some women might be attracted to his he-man looks. He had thick brown hair and dark eyes with a muscular build just starting to go to seed, like an aging former football hero. But his macho arrogance did nothing for her.

"I was thinking maybe we need each other. Young woman like yourself, in such a dangerous field, could do well with a strong man by her side." He put his hands on her waist, and she shuddered inwardly. She turned around and attempted to push him away.

"I'm fine on my own, thank you." His eyes narrowed. He didn't like being shot down.

"You may not want to be so quick to turn me down, Miss Monroe. It helps having a friend in this department. It can definitely hurt to have an enemy." He hovered closer. "What do you say?"

"I say you may want to clear out so we can get back to work." Robby's strong voice rang out from the doorway. Relieved, Lindsay pushed past Ferguson.

"Hey, what have you got?" A disgruntled Ferguson left the lab.

"Nothing much from trace, although I think you've got a bit of a problem with Ferguson. He's vindictive, watch your back."

NYNYNYNYNYNYNYNYNYNYNYNYNY

Vindictive was a good way to describe him. By the end of her shift, he had already complained to Capt. Willard about Lindsay, saying she didn't wear gloves at the crime scene, was rude to him, etc. Luckily, her boss listened to her as well as Robby, and took her side, making sure another detective was assigned.

That evening, Lindsay took a long hot bath, letting the day's tension ease out of her. Afterward, she finally got around to listening to her messages. Mom checking in, the repairman confirming an appointment to fix her stove, and Laura, her buddy from high school.

"Hey sweetie, just calling to say hello. Lily (her toddler) is napping so I thought I'd try and catch you. You're probably on some hot case. I'll talk to you later."

Lindsay smiled and, feeling nostalgic, picked up a framed photo of she and Laurie from graduation day – Class of 1992 – and thought of old times. It was then a particular evening more than a decade past came to mind.

_You will overcome obstacles, people who would stand in your way, but you won't let them. I keep seeing an ugly plaid – greens and browns. I wonder what that means? _

"I know what it means, Mama Mathilda," Lindsay said softly to the empty room.

Suddenly that long ago autumn evening became more than a memory – it became a window to her future.

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Mama Mathilda  
**Prompts**: Beginning, voice  
**Rating**: K  
**Warning:** None I can think of, other than too much sap!  
**Disclaimer**: I don't own these people!

**_The Beginning_**

**AUGUST 2, 2005**

"Hey Monroe! Line 4!" Lindsay, knee deep in extensive trace from a robbery/murder at a local pet store, looks up, startled. She scrambles to the extension in the trace lab. "Yeah … hello. This is Lindsay Monroe."

"Yes, Ms. Monroe. This is Capt. Richard McLean."

Her heart immediately begins to pound. The authoritative, stern Irishman had interviewed her two weeks ago via teleconference for the new CSI position in New York. She applied on a lark after seeing it posted in a national law enforcement journal.

"You're an impressive young woman in Montana. We would like to see if you could do the same in New York. The job is yours if you want it."

Covering the receiver, Lindsay clears her throat, shocked. "Sir … I would be delighted, sir."

"Well, your superior, Det. Mac Taylor, was very impressed with your forensic expertise, particularly something about blood spatter? He's a picky man, so if he's impressed, I'm impressed."

"Thank you so much." A few minutes later, Lindsay has agreed to start the second week of September and is headed for the bathroom. Making sure no one is there, she promptly throws up in one of the stalls.

Sitting weakly on the floor, butterflies the size of pterodactyls circling her stomach, she can't help but smile. _Well, Mama Mathilda, I hope you're proud. I'm following my heart. Unfortunately I'm also losing my lunch._

**SEPTEMBER 15, 2005**

Lindsay tried to imagine what her first day on the job in New York would be like. Nothing prepared for walking in, expecting to have a chance to check out her new digs, and being sent out to fight traffic on her own.

She's headed for the Bronx Zoo and is to meet Det. Taylor there. Her boss. At a scene. "No pressure, really," she grumbles to herself as she fights the gridlock. Finally arriving after a nail-biting trip through midday gridlock, she looks for someone to show her the way to the crime scene. Suddenly, a tall man with coal black hair turns and smiles.

"Hey, you must be the new CSI. Lindsay Monroe, right? I'm Det. Don Flack, I'll be working a case with you and Mac."

Lindsay smiles warmly and returns the greeting – something in his manner reminds her a bit of her brother, Andy. She follows him deeper into the zoo. To her right, a polar bear dives into his icy pool. To her left, cheerful monkeys chatter. As she nears the exhibit where death occurred, a lion roars.

_Lions and tigers and bears, Oh my! _The children's rhyme comes unbidden to her mind. "Now all I need are the tigers," she mutters.

Flack turns. "You say somethin'?"

She blushes slightly. "No, sorry."

"Mac's over there."

She nods and heads over to another cage. There, a middle-aged man is wrestling with an tranquilized … tiger? _You've got to be kidding_, she thinks. "Det. Taylor?" Weary hazel eyes glance up.

"Yeah."

"Lindsay Monroe."

"My new investigator from Bozeman."

"Your office said you wanted me to come down as soon as I arrived?"

He nods briefly. "Glove up."

"Right now?"

"You here to watch or work?" he replies gruffly, although his face and eyes remain mild. _Stop acting like a shy child, Lindsay_, she scolds herself. _You're a skilled investigator, act like one_.

"You want me to start processing?"

"Danny's got that covered."

"That'd be me, Danny Messer. How you doin'?"

Lindsay fights an urge to giggle at the accent. _Joey Tribbiani?_ "Hi," she says, glancing and catching sight of pale blue eyes that send a shiver through her. _What is wrong with me today?_ She thinks, giving herself a mental shake.

"I'll need you to hold the tiger's jaws so I can get the dental impression," Mac says.

"Just take a deep breath, don't let 'em know you're afraid because he can sense when you're nervous." Danny intones into her ear.

The shiver is a memory as she tartly replies, "The tiger's tranquilized, I think I can handle it."

"I'm talkin' about Mac. And be sure to call him sir."

NYNYNYNYNYNYNYNYNYNYNY

A few hours and pounds of tiger dung later, Lindsay is slamming cupboards, looking for supplies.

"Can I help?"

Lindsay is still quietly raging. His cocky voice is already getting to her. _"Make sure you call him sir." _That's what she gets for thinking the men in New York would be more enlightened. Messer and Ferguson would be great drinking buddies.

"No, thank you, you helped enough already this morning," she says, her voice ringing with sarcastic sweetness.

"O –o – kay." Is his only reply, and Lindsay resumes her slamming path around the lab.

NYNYNYNYNYNYNYNYNYNYNYNY

That evening, Lindsay flops on the couch of Uncle Fred's apartment. He's actually away on a fishing trip up north, and she's grateful to have the place to herself for a few days.

Her mind is still simmering about Messer. What an ass. Call _him sir. Country girl. And what's this "Montana" crap?_ At least Flack and Stella were nice.

Flipping on the TV for background noise, she continues to brood. Despite her initial awkwardness with him, Det. Taylor seemed comfortable with her. She already respects him and anticipates becoming a better investigator under his supervision. Picturing him in her mind, she mentally corrects an earlier impression – more than just tired, Taylor's eyes are steeped in sadness.

_"On the coast you will meet your mentor – the man with the sad eyes." _

"All right, Mama Mathilda, I'll give you that one. But the man of my dreams with the beautiful blue eyes? I'm not holding my breath."

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Mama Mathilda  
**Prompt:** Sheets, chocolate, perfect, aphrodisiac,  
**Rating**: K  
**Warning**: None I can think of, other than too much sap!  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own these people!

**SEPTEMBER 29, 2005**

_Because I'm petit, people assume I have a weak stomach_, Lindsay thought grumpily. Everyone she works with, save Mac, watches her carefully at gruesome scenes – will the cute little Montana girl toss her cookies? _Guess what, people – I've seen some bad shit. I've seen people stabbed, bludgeoned, burned, eaten - you name it. _

What Lindsay has trouble understanding was stupidity, and New York definitely has a brand of its own. Take Kyle Vance – her newest victim. It would appear he got caught up in some weird death game, pretending to be an assassin. _I mean, c'mon, people_, she thought. _You have to know playing at death is eventually not going to be enough for people._ She mulls this over while researching the "game" on the Internet. Quite popular around the world – she guessed crazy was everywhere.

"Yo, Montana." She rolls her eyes.

"STOP calling me that. My name is Lindsay."

He just chuckles. Laura told her the other night she thinks the nickname is Danny's way of saying he likes her – much like the little boy who dips a girl's braid in ink.

_"Besides, Linds, remember: your true love will never call you by your given name, so sayeth Mama Mathilda!" Lindsay groaned good-naturedly, bidding her friend a quick good-bye. _

Thing is, she can't say the same thought hasn't crossed her mind. _Danny Messer is not my one and only - he couldn't be._ Besides, he's dating some chick named Cindy.

"So, I've got a bunch of lunies playing death games, what about you?" she asks.

"Sexy woman, found twisted in satin sheets. Scene set for romance – chocolates, candlelight, lingerie – all the aphrodisiacs. Oh, and she had eggs laid in her ear, and these abrasions in her throat are from a small octopus – she was force fed the thing, and she choked on it." He shakes his head. "Bet you've never seen that in Montana. Probably all meat and potatoes there."

Lindsay chuckles. "Ever hear of rocky mountain oysters? Yep, bull testicles. People eat weird stuff in Montana, too, just of the more rustic variety."

Danny rolls his eyes. "Whatever. Anyway, turns out she went to this exotic cuisine dinner. All fancy. People paid $10,000 a pop to eat live seafood and bugs. Think you could eat that crap? I sampled it, ya know, but it's not my cup of tea."

She smiles, her flirtatious gene kicking in. "I'll try anything once," she says, her voice throaty. She watches in satisfaction as Danny's eyes bug out, and walks away, hips swaying, knowing he's watching every move.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

It turns out Mr. Vance's little death game wasn't so fun for all involved. Lindsay can't help but feel sorry for the killer, Chris Matthews. It may have been a game to Vance and his cronies, but it hit too close to home for a man that's trying to keep his family going on a dream.

Heading out of the lab, she sees Danny surrounded by their co-workers. Not wanting to miss out on the fun, she takes a seat at the table, which is covered with takeout boxes.

"All right, I got mealworm spaghetti, stinkbug pate – that's nice. Cricket croquettes, braised ant bruschetta, Thai dragon flies. Who's goin' first?" His eyes catch Lindsay's over the gruesome feast.

"You gotta be kidding," says Stella.

"Pass," intones Flack.

None of these dishes really appeals to Lindsay, but the wordless challenge she notices in Danny's eyes eggs her on. "It's just protein," she says blithely. Lindsay grabs the first thing in reach … _A breaded spider?_ Afraid pausing will show weakness, she crunches off one of the arachnid's legs.

Groans fill the room, and Flack makes a hideous yuck face. Mac looks satisfied. "Told ya she'd do it," he says with a grin.

"All right, all right, all right," Danny says, handing some cash over. "Here ya go."

Lindsay glances over her shoulder. _They bet on me?_ She can't decide if she's ticked off or flattered.

"Okay, pizza in my office," Mac says, leading most of the crew off. Only Danny and Lindsay remain, and there's an odd glint in his eye. Rather than looking upset at losing to Mac, he seems amused.

"You bet Mac I wouldn't do it?" she asks, chomping away.

"Yeah, what was I thinkin'." Instead of looking disappointed, he seems pleased. Odd. "Bettin' against a country girl."

"Yeah, it's actually not that bad," she says, meaning it. While it's not exactly like chicken, the ample breading makes it pretty edible.

"Well, try it with some grasshopper chutney," he says, passing the container over.

"Mmmm. Mmmm hmmm." _In for a penny, in for a pound_.

"Wasp tamale?"

"Don't mind if I do."

"Spaghetti mealworms are the best," he says, surprising her by plucking one out and popping it in his mouth.

They pick their way through each of the dishes, then decide they've had enough. "So Montana, wanna head over to Brady's down the street? Have a coupla brews to settle our stomachs?"

Something about his smile has her off guard. Cocky as always, yes, but there's something more this time, and it makes her uneasy. She swallows it down, along with the remnants of the stinkbug pate. "Sounds great."

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To her surprise and relief, the beer actually does settle her stomach, along with the pretzels on the bar. They've had a nice time – exchanging stories, laughing about Flack's face earlier. She knows she works with a great group of people, and despite her early misgivings, Danny's included in that. Suddenly, a thought occurs to her.

"Don't you have tomorrow off?"

"Um, yeah, and your point would be?"

"Well …" she fumbles a bit, suddenly losing a little nerve. "It's Friday, you're off tomorrow … don't you have plans with Cindy?"

He takes another swig of beer before answering. "Uh, actually, we're kinda done. Not meant to be, I guess. She broke up with me about three weeks ago because I wouldn't go to some muckety-muck party with her. Anyway, she's datin' some lawyer, now."

"I'm sorry, Danny."

"No worries. I kinda knew we weren't going to last, she just saved me the trouble. Anyway, who could ask for more than what I got right now? Great company, beer and … oh yeah, spiders." He smiles, clinking his longneck with hers.

_Spiders_ … the "Twilight Zone" theme plays in her head as she recall, once again, Mama Mathilda. She smiles, covering her sudden discomfort. "A great night, huh?"

"Yeah," he says thoughtfully. "Perfect."

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** Mama Mathilda  
**Prompt:** Heartbeat, skin, chemistry  
**Rating**: K  
**Warning**: None I can think of, other than too much sap!  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own these people!

**OCTOBER 12, 2005**

Everything seemed perfectly geared to put Dr. Craig Zimmer away for the murder of Stacie Avida. Too perfect. That thought had Lindsay out on the roof with Peter Matthews, one of the lab techs, and Danny on his way up to assist.

It's the footprints that threw her off. The heels were deeper in the impressions she took, which made her recall her childhood. She was always fascinated with her dad's cowboy boots, wearing them anywhere she could. In the dirt outside their home, deep heel prints would always be found, but the sock-stuffed toes never left any marks. Did Stacie Avida make those tracks herself? Mac wanted real proof, she would give it to him.

"Okay, Det. Monroe. Zimmer's 170 pounds, the victim was …" Peter checked his notes. "… 130 pounds. We're still about 20 pounds off."

She waved her hand impatiently. "It's okay, Matthews." He was new, and eager to be precise.

"No, Det. Monroe, it's not okay. Don't worry, though – I thought of a solution already. Be right back." Matthews dashed off to his equipment stash, and Lindsay tapped her foot impatiently. A couple minutes later he came back … carrying two dumbbells.

For a moment, she was speechless. "Dumbbells?" she croaked.

"Ummmm .., yeah. Twenty pounds worth – to make up the difference?"

Lindsay shook herself out of her reverie. "Fine, whatever. Thanks, Peter." A short time later, Danny came bounding out of the door.

"'Kay Montana. What's up?"

Lindsay handed Danny Dr. Zimmer's shoes. "Here, put these on."

Danny raised an eyebrow, but complied, and she explained herself.

"I need you in Dr. Zimmer's shoes because the plaster casts I got from the suspect's footprints are about half an inch deeper in the heal than they were in the toe, which is odd."

She put her arm around his shoulder, and he smoothly swept her off her feet. _Literally, not figuratively_, she thought grumpily. _Take that, Mama Mathilda. Your prediction can't come true if I don't let it._

"I weigh about as much as the victim, you way about the same as Dr. Zimmer …" God, she was having trouble talking. She reached out, taking Mama Mathilda's predicted dumbbells from Peter. "…Thanks. The extra weight makes it exact."

The extra weight caused her to settle firmly against his chest. They were fully dressed, but she could still feel the heat of his skin through the layers, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Hers, meanwhile, was racing. _Keep your mind on your work, Lindsa_y, she told herself sternly.

"Look, you promised me drinks for this, but I think I'm gonna need some dinner, too."

"I'm not going to give you anything if you don't get going. Make tracks cowboy," she said lightly, determinedly keeping the mood professional.

As Danny took plodding steps through the dirt, Lindsay tried to collect herself. She could smell his spicy cologne, could feel the chemistry she knew existed between them bubbling beneath the surface, ready to explode. And if she wasn't mistaken, his heartbeat picked up his pace, his eyes flickering toward her face.

He set her down on the other side of the garden, groaning theatrically_. He's trying to cut the tension_, she thought. Playing along, she swatted him good-naturedly on the arm. In the midst of their clowning around, Danny's gaze caught hers. Lindsay's skin, which was thankfully hidden, broke out in gooseflesh.

Danny's pager went off, breaking the mood. "It's Stella – gotta go." Relieved, Lindsay murmured her thanks, and got back to work.

A few mintues later, she checked her measurements and was sure of three things.

One: There was no way Dr. Zimmer, carrying the victim, made the tracks on the roof.

Two: Mama Mathilda was spooky.

Three: She was falling for Danny Messer.

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:** Mama Mathilda  
**Prompt:** Kiss, He, She, Sweet  
**Rating**: K  
**Warning**: None I can think of, other than too much sap!  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own these people!

**DECEMBER 23, 2005**

Lindsay swirls around the dance floor with a surprisingly nimble Sid Hammerbeck. _I'm dreaming of a white Christmas …_ She finds herself humming, thoroughly enjoying the office Christmas party at Cozy's, now the unofficial hangout of their gang. Funny, though, neither Danny nor Lindsay had told anyone of their meeting there.

She pulls back at a deep sigh from her partner. "What's up, Sid?"

"Oh, nothing. Just was kind of hoping I could snag a twirl with Stella." He stares off to where the object of his affection is dancing with Det. Don Flack. "No offense, Lindsay, it's always a pleasure dancing with you."

"No worries, Sid," Lindsay says. "In fact, maybe I can help? Hey Stel!"

Stella Bonasera and Flack both look at her.

"You've monopolized our hunky detective long enough! Switch!"

Her curly-haired coworker smiles her agreement, Flack shrugs and Hammerbeck is jubilant. "You're the best!" With a peck on her cheek, he's off.

Flack, chuckling, comes over. "Did you plan that?"

Lindsay grins. "Had to, sorry. Hope you don't mind."

Flack smiles back, smoothly taking her in his arms. "Not at all, Det. Monroe, not at all."

And she settles in, enjoying a moment in the arms of a handsome man. They may only be friends, but he is cute, and damn – he smells good, too. Flack sings cheerfully off-key in her ear, and she gazes over his shoulder, relaxing.

Until her eyes meet his. Danny is leaning against the bar, watching her intently. A chill moves through her body as his ice blue eyes connect with her brown ones. What is it about him?

"You cold?" Flack has noticed the Goosebumps that have sprung up on her arms.

"Oh, no, sorry. I'm fine."

Later, Lindsay has said her good-byes and is out at a corner taxi stand. She still hasn't quite gotten the hang of hailing a cab, and prefers the easy route. Soon, Danny appears. She doesn't see him at first, but somehow knows he's there.

"So, you have a good time, Montana?"

Lindsay turns and smiles. "I had a great time. I think I finally feel truly part of things here."

"Well, you seemed part of Flack for awhile there." He grins that cocky smile of his, but there's a hint of a question there as well.

She chuckles. "He's a good guy, but a friend, that's all. He actually reminds me of my brother."

Danny smiles, moving closer, looking relieved. "Good to know. So … who do I remind you of?"

She looks at him a moment, trying to think of the right words. "Honestly? You're nothing like anyone I've never known."

"Right back atcha." Danny says quietly, reaching back to brush a lock of hair from her face. He glances up. "Whatdya know? Someone has holiday spirit."

Lindsay follows his gaze to the sprig of mistletoe above them, affixed jauntily to the frame of the taxi stand. She meets Danny's gaze to respond, but all thoughts are dashed when his lips come down gently on hers.

Danny pulls away after a moment, intending to keep the kiss simple. "Merry Christ –"

His words are cut off when Lindsay reaches up, pulling his lips to hers once again, kissing him thoroughly, deeply, tasting a mixture of salty peanuts and beer from Cozy's. Finally ending the kiss, Lindsay is breathless, but manages a cocky grin of her own.

"If you're going to kiss a girl, Det. Messer, do it right."

Before Danny can respond, a cab pulls up, and Lindsay opens the door, leaving him with a final "Merry Christmas" before disappearing inside.

On the way home, she reviews the evening. The bold move she was totally unlike her, but she doesn't regret it. She settles back in the seat, a Cheshire Cat grin on her face. The prophesy of Mama Mathilda may be on its way to coming true, but at that moment, Lindsay doesn't remember or care – her mind is filled with thoughts of Danny Messer.

**DECEMBER 31**

A week later, another party. This time, it's the NYPD's New Year's bash at the Sheraton. Unlike the deep red velvet of Christmas, Lindsay is dressed in spangled silver that glints in the twinkling lights of the dance floor.

Danny can't keep his eyes off her. Truth be told, he's been drawn to her from the start – funny, he wouldn't think watching a woman wade through tiger dung could be such a turn on.

Then came Christmas, and that kiss. They had ignored it on the surface since, but it was never far from his mind.

"Okay everyone! Here it comes – on my mark, start the countdown!" Chief Robert Flannery is onstage, at least two sheets to the wind. "Go!"

"10! 9! 8! …"

Suddenly, he knows what he has to do – there is no choice involved. Danny begins to push through the crowd, Lindsay the only thing in his sights.

"7! 6! 5!"

Suddenly she's aware of him, moving toward her, like a prowling cat intent on his prey. She shivers in anticipation.

"4! 3! 2! 1! Happy New Year!" The crowd goes wild, and for a moment, Danny loses sight of Lindsay. When he finds her again, she's just given Mac a good-natured peck on the cheek. Then she sees Danny, who stops briefly to shake his boss's hand before reaching her.

She smiles and leans up on tiptoe, she gives him a brief smack on the lips. "Happy New –"

Snagging her waist, he pulls her firmly against him, bringing his lips crashing down on hers, kissing her thoroughly, hungrily, tasting the tart sweetness of champagne in her mouth. Pulling back breathlessly, he looks at her with a sly grin.

"If you're going to kiss a guy, Montana, do it right." He pulls away, is pulled into an embrace by someone else, and is soon lost in the crowd of revelers.

A short time later, Danny is on his way out when he catches her eye across the room. She still looks a bit stunned, he notes with satisfaction. _One good turn deserves another_, _Montana_, he thinks. On the way home, a small part of his brain knows he's wading into dangerous territory, but mostly he doesn't care – there's something about her that draws him, almost like a gravitational pull.

That night as he sleeps, all concerns are pushed away, as he dreams of spiders, dumbbells, rainbows and Montana.

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

**Title:** Mama Mathilda  
**Prompt: **Love, Moment, Lust, Together  
**Rating:** K  
**Warning:** Some angst in this one.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own these people!

**APRIL 14, 2006**

Lindsay ponders the moldered, ancient cigarette butt for a moment, pausing to reflect on the wonders of forensic science. This butt – likely more than a decade old – could unlock the mystery of a murder.

"Back to work, Montana," she mutters, smiling at her own use of the once-dreaded nickname. She and Danny were closer now, although no relationship had resulted from their heated kisses – only more romantic tension. Fine. It made life interesting.

A bit later, she drums her fingers impatiently, waiting for the computer to spit out the results. Could there be a match somewhere in the system? The sound of the printer has her eagerly snapping up the results. A match – who would have believed it?

She snags the sheet, tamps down her excitement and reads the report. Her heart promptly plummets. Danny. Lindsay sits stock-still mentally going over her options. The sensible part says she should go straight to Mac – he needs to know. The emotional part, the one that knows Danny would never kill anyone, wants to go to him.

Her mind wages war with her heart, and latter wins, dredging up a memory of a long ago autumn meeting, when a kind old woman told her of a futuer love ... and cigarette butts.  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Danny hurries to meet Lindsay. She's never paged him 911. She'd better be okay. One look at his grim-faced partner tells him she's not.

"What is it, Montana, you beeped me 911. You alright?"

"Yeah, the DNA sample from the cigarette we found in the end zone came back to an internal control sample."

His mind would not comprehend her message. "What do you mean, that means the smoker works here at the lab. How can that be?"

Lindsay wordlessly hands him the results, and immediately, it feels like a hand is constricting around his chest, robbing him of his breath. A beat. "Have you told anyone else about this?" he asks, eyes burrowing into hers.

"No, just you."

Thank god. Not trusting himself to speak, Danny heads off to see Mac.  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Lindsay's head hurt. Badly. She didn't know what to think of those DNA results, except that the bewilderment in Danny's eyes told her he didn't kill anyone.

Poor Danny. She would never forget the look of devastation as Mac took his gun and badge. That one moment when his eyes met hers through the glass – that's all it took for her to feel his pain.

Then Louie. While she knows they haven't been close, Danny looked weary and sad at the hospital. Now, she can only pray that the tape recorder she found among Louie's thing can provide answers she knows they all need, most of all Danny.  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
The prayers worked. The ones about the tape recorder, at least. Louie Messer is still in a coma, but his bravery assured his brother's innocence. And now Lindsay, with Mac's blessing, is bringing Danny that tape.

She finds him standing vigil at his brother's bedside, and coaxes him into a small room generally used to break bad news to families. It's cheerless, which is appropriate, Lindsay thinks.

After she explains how the recorder was found, words – except for the ones on the tape – are unnecessary. Danny presses play, and as Louie's voice is heard, he reaches out, grabbing her hand. She squeezes it, willing him her support.

Lindsay's heard the tape before, and finds her mind tuning out the conversation, focusing instead on the face of the man she's come to know and care for. It tells a sad story – first it freezes in shock, then tightens in anger. Finally it sags with knowledge and sadness. His brother – the man he thought didn't love him – may have given his life to save him – not once, but twice.

Danny stands woodenly, moves stiffly toward the door. Lindsay follows suit, then stands awkwardly, unsure if he needs or wants anything. When he reaches for the knob, she nods absently – he needs his family.

But Danny doesn't leave; he leans forward, head resting dejectedly on the door, shoulders tensing.

"Danny? Are you okay? I – "

He turns to face her, his eyes brimming with tears. He grabs her shoulders, then pulls her to him, holding her so tightly she feels part of him.

"I'm okay. I just – I need – "

"It's okay, Danny." Lindsay wraps her arms around him, willing him her strength.

"I need - I need you, Lindsay. I gotta get it together. Hold me together."

They stand there, bodies fused together, for several minutes, almost like two people holding on for dear life in the middle of a storm.

And a storm is raging inside him – she can feel it with every tremor that shudders through his body as he tries to control his emotions.

Then, the storm passes, and his body relaxes a fraction, and he pulls away. He looks into her eyes, his own burning with something she can't identify. "Thank you," he whispers, and is gone.

In that moment, Lindsay realizes her feelings for Danny are more than attraction, more than chemistry, more than lust.

She's in love with him; so much so that she is willing to risk everything, withstand any storm, to stay by his side. Did he love her? Time would tell, but in the mean time, she would be there for him, in any capacity.

**TBC**  



	8. Chapter 8

**Title:** Mama Mathilda  
**Prompt:** Smile, date, dinner, relationship  
**Rating:** K  
**Warning:** None I can think of, other than too much sap!  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own these people!

**MAY 1, 2006**

Lindsay turns once again before the mirror, checking every last detail. Normally someone who barely spares a glance at her reflection before heading into the world, the practice is unusual.

But then, today is an unusual day. Today, Lindsay is going on a date with Danny Messer.

It had taken him awhile to ask her out – Louie was still in the hospital, and he explained that he thought it was best for his emotions to take a breather before they did something so social and normal.

_"I thought I was gonna wait longer, then I started thinkin' about Christmas and New Year's, and I thought, why wait?" he told her. _

Why wait indeed? Lindsay is surprised how calm she is, other than checking out her looks every five minutes. It just seems the time is right, that this date is …

Meant to be? Well, according to Mama Mathilda, it is. But Lindsay didn't agree to satisfy destiny, she agreed because she wants more than anything to be with him.

The woman in the mirror before her has flashing eyes full of excitement. He's picking her up in a few minutes, and she finally allows herself to smile – she looks good. It's a warm day, so she's able to get away with the delicate tank top. It's a deep green with ivory lace edging top. Dark jeans and heeled sandals complete the ensemble. Her friend Laura instructed her to wear her hair down, and soft curls brush her shoulders. _Just a touch more lip gloss …_

A knock interrupts the stillness of her apartment. He's here. After a steadying breath, she heads to the door and opens it. Another breath. He looks good. _Damn good_. Dark jeans, not unlike her own, with a black silk fitted tee.

"Lookin' good, Montana," he says, eyes sparkling behind his wire rims.

"You, too, Messer."

He surprises her by bringing out a single red rose from behind her back. She smiles her thanks, and they head inside, where Lindsay puts it in water.

"My Ma says not to even show up without a flower."

Lindsay's a bit shocked. "You told your mom about us? Already?"

Danny ponders her a moment before answering. "Technically, this is our first date, but we know there's more goin' on here, don't we?"

She walks slowly to him, head cocked to one side. "I guess we do."

Danny reaches out, touching her cheek gently before leaning in to brush his lips gently against hers. "You ready?"

"Yeah," she says, her answer more of a sigh than actual speech.

NYNYNYNYNY

Later, at a small, intimate restaurant a couple of blocks off Broadway, they've finished a delicious meal. They both had steak for dinner– Lindsay eating a solid meal pleased Danny to no end since most women in New York pick at salads – and a gentle flow of conversation.

In the muted lighting, Danny smiles frequently, a special smile Lindsay recognizes as hers. He discusses his fears for Louie, she talks about her successes and stumbles since arriving in New York. Danny laughs when she tells him about her first subway ride – despite using the appropriate tokens, she kept looking for a ticket man in the subway car.

"Hey, leave me alone. At least I've learned how to hail a taxi," she says, smiling, and Danny howls.

"Took ya long enough." She swats him good-naturedly across the table.

After dinner, they walk compatibly, fingers linked. Finding their way to a park – really just a square of grass with a tree and a bench – they sit down, enjoying the balmy spring breeze.

"What do we got here, Montana?"

Lindsay looks at him blankly. "What do you mean?"

"Well, normally, two people go out on a first date, maybe a few more, and decide whether or not they're together. But I kinda feel like we're already together, ya know?"

"Yeah, I guess I do," she says quietly.

"What I'm sayin' is, I guess I don't wantcha seein' other guys, and I don't wanna see other girls. You got a problem with that?"

Lindsay smiles. "Danny Messer, are you telling me you want a relationship?"

"Not just any relationship, one with you."

"You got it," she whispers, before Danny captures her lips, and time slows as they melt into each other.

NYNYNYNYNY

Later, at her door, her mind is numb as they kiss, alternating between gentle and hungry, thorough and chaste. Finally, he pulls away. "Just cuz I moved fast on this 'relationship' thing, doesn't mean I'm pushin' ya into bed. We can take our time."

Lindsay snuggles in for one last kiss, slowly and lazily exploring his mouth with her tongue. "Not too long, I hope."

He groans into her mouth. "No, Montana, that's a promise."

One week later, he kept that promise, several times over.

**TBC**  



	9. Chapter 9

**Title:** Mama Mathilda  
**Prompt**: Proposal, Desire (woo hoo!) and my writer's choice, Rainbows.  
**Rating:** K  
**Warning:** None I can think of, other than too much sap!  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own these people!

**JUNE 15, 2006**

Danny can't stop moving, a common affliction when he's nervous.

And he's very nervous. When a self-avowed playboy with no plans to get married, buys a ring and plans a proposal, it's scary.

He hurries around his apartment, swiping at non-existent dust and making sure all the candles are lit. Danny has prepared his specialty: Spaghetti with homemade sauce. It may sound simple, but his recipe, taught to him by his Italian grandpa, was anything but. He double checks that the ring box is not visible in his pocket.

A knock. Danny spares himself a quick look in the mirror. "Alright Messer, don't screw this up."

He opens the door and smiles at a radiant Lindsay, clad in a simple sundress sprinkled with flowers. He ushers her in, placing a quick kiss on her lips.

"Mmmmm …" she says, inhaling deeply. "Something smells wonderful."

"It tastes even better." Now that she's here, his worries seem to fall away. There's no question in his mind that it's time. They haven't been officially "dating" for long, but they've been together in their minds for much longer.

As always, conversation flows easily through dinner. Lindsay visited Don at the hospital today, and Danny eagerly listens to her account.

"Well, you know he's talking since you saw him yesterday, but his humor is definitely returning. He was wearing some god-awful tie over his hospital gown – said he felt naked without one."

Danny laughs. Flack's near-death had been hard on them, particularly after Aiden's death. He remembers Lindsay holding him that night after the funeral, much as she had that night in the hospital. The last few months had been rough, but with her by his side, he'd made it through. Things are better now, particularly with Louie's progress – it's slow, but definitely there.

"He's starting to react more, ya know, eyes movin' and stuff. He's blinking for questions – the old once for yes, twice for no – and is more coherent. The physical therapist is noticing more purposeful movement," he explains.

"I'm so glad, Danny."

He smiles at her. "Things are lookin' up, Montana, and from where I sit, it's going to continue doin' that … startin' right now." Palms slightly sweaty, he stands, walks to her side of the table, and gets down on one knee.

"I'm not one for fancy games or messages on signs, Lindsay. I just decided I' d come out with it. I love you, more than life, more than myself. I never thought I'd get married, even get serious about a girl. But you walked into my life through a pile of tiger dung right into my heart, and have never left.

"I'm still not sure I deserve you, but somehow I feel like this is what I'm supposed to do. I guess what I'm sayin' is, I love you, Linds. Will you marry me?"

She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Tears well in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, I know this isn't much of a proposal. Flack said I shoulda thoughta somethin' creative. Shit."

"Danny." It's a croak. He looks up at her hopefully. "I don't want games or messages, I just want you. The proposal was perfect." Finally the tears spin over.

He pulls her into his embrace, and they just stand their, reveling in each other. "Wait … one more thing." He bends down on one knee, slips the box out of his pocket, opens it. "Lindsay Monroe, officially, will you marry me?"

She laughs. "Yes, damn it! Now put that gorgeous ring on my finger." He does, and it is gorgeous, a simple diamond solitaire on an etched platinum band. The facets of the stone catch the candlelight and Lindsay is dazzled, both by the ring and the man who gave it to her.

Further thoughts are eliminated as he kisses her, their caresses more poignant and special now that their future has been decided. They will be together, forever, as man and wife. In the bedroom, the shadows of the remaining summer sun grow long and deep, just like their feelings for each other.

When it's over, Danny holds her in his arms, and is happier than he's ever been.

NYNYNYNYNYNYNY

It's shortly after 3 a.m., and neither can sleep. They are young and in love, but even couples with the sizzling chemistry they have need a break. Lindsay props herself up on one elbow. "Did I ever tell you about Mama Mathilda?"

Danny's eyebrows shoot up. "Mama Leoni? What?"

She laughs. "Mama Mathilda." And she proceeds to tell him of that long ago fall evening, when the sweet old woman with the knit shop two towns over (Lindsay found that out later) told of a man with beautiful blue eyes who would love her forever.

Danny is skeptical. "I never believed in that stuff."

Warming to the subject now, Lindsay sits up. "Wait, you have to hear it all.

"First, she said a loss would lead to my calling, one that involved blood. I told you about my brother, how the CSIs who put that idiot who killed him away? She pegged that." She ignores his eye roll. "She told me of people who would try and prevent me from succeeding, singling out an image of green and brown plaid and Old Spice. When that creepy detective in Bozeman – Milo Ferguson – hit on me, he was wearing a plaid shirt with those colors, and positively reeked of – "

"Old Spice," Danny concluded, starting to look interested.

"It gets better. He said I would meet my mentor in the land of lions, tigers and bears. Think about it Danny – my first day on the job."

He grins, the aforementioned blue eyes lighting in recognition. "The zoo! Mac!"

"She also mentioned his sad eyes. Anyway, one to you. He said you would never call me by my given name …"

At that, Danny lets out a bark of laughter. "Montana!"

"…and that she saw strange images of things that would bring us together: Spiders, dumbbells, and cigarette butts."

He thinks. "Ah, my exotic feast, that test on the roof … the cigarette butt with my DNA. You didn't got to Mac first. Even with everything going on, I knew that hadta be hard on you."

"I trusted you. I knew you wouldn't kill anyone in cold blood," she says softly, touching his cheek. "You know, she said we would bond over the blood of others."

Danny's eyes soften in sadness. "Louie, Aiden, Flack."

"On the bright side, she said you would propose with candlelight, flowers, and it would be everything I ever wanted. And it was, Danny. It was perfect."

He kisses her deeply. "Okay, I grant there may be one legitimate psychic in Montana. Anything else she saw?"

"Umm … I don't think so …Wait! Rainbows. She said the morning after your proposal would bring rainbows."

Danny scratched his head. Well, Montana, it's goin' to be sunny tomorrow. No rainbows forecasted. But what the hell? We can forgive that – a 99 percent success rate is pretty damn good."

She sighs into him. "Agreed." Then she kisses him running her nails down his back.

There is no more talking.

NYNYNYNYNYNY

Danny was right about the forecast. The sun streaming through the windows wakes Lindsay, and she smiles at her sleeping fiancé. Despite the obvious good weather, she can't help peeking out the window.

It's a beautiful day, but there's only sun and blue sky – no multi-colored arches. _Oh well_, she thinks, then smiles at the sight of her ring. Pulling it off her finger, she holds it in the light, the facets sending shots of light everywhere.

"I am so happy," she whispers in the early morning light, then glances back toward her lover, still sleeping. Suddenly, a gasp catches in her throat. The diamond's facet create a prism affect – red, yellow, blue, purple, orange – a myriad of colors, sparkling around the room. On the bed, the walls – on Danny's back.

Lindsay smiles.

"Rainbows."


End file.
